Realisation
by redrachxo
Summary: Vlad gets an unexpected glimpse into Bertrand's past from an unlikely source. Set between series 4 episode 9/10 and episode 12. Quite angsty. One shot. Please R&R. xo


_**Just a theory about what made Vlad reconsider Bertrand supposed 'betrayal' before he checked the computer system for the shape-shifter. With credit to HopeCoppice for Jim Grant.**_

_**Hope you enjoy!**_

_**xo**_

**Realisation**

"Ah, Vlad! Could you wait a minute please?" Jim Grant's voice boomed down the corridor causing a bunch of third year girls, standing by their lockers, to giggle loudly between themselves.

Vlad froze mid-step at the sound of the History teacher's voice. With a heavy sigh of resignation, he slowly turned around to face the portly man bustling towards him. Jim Grant, actually he should really call him Mr Grant, had been a good, if slightly pompous, teacher. It was just that Vlad didn't particularly enjoy History and recently he had more pressing matters on his mind than that stupid coursework about World War I. Perhaps, Mr Grant's good nature had been pushed too far by Vlad's absence from his classes for over a month now. That might explain the strangely determined look on the man's ruddy features but not the sleek wooden box in his hands.

He waited impatiently for the teacher to reach him. Mr Grant was slightly out of breath as he approached. Clearly, all that port and cheese at the Rose and Crown wasn't conductive to his health. It did make his blood smell oh so deliciously rich... Vlad had to force that tempting thought out of his mind almost immediately.

Mr Grant seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "I don't suppose Mr du Fortunesa has recovered from that bout of flu yet?"

Vlad frowned. Why on earth would Mr Grant be inquiring after Bertrand? He shook his head sharply. Flu. So that was Dad's excuse to Miss McCauley for Bertrand's absence. Well, he could hardly explain that his son had turned the former tutor into a big pile of dust.

"Ah." Mr Grant looked most perplexed. He turned the small box over in his hands as if he were trying to make a decision. "My dear boy, could you possibly do me a favour?"

Vlad raised an eyebrow in reply.

Mr Grant seemed to take this as a 'yes' and pressed on. "Could you return this to Bertie - I mean Mr du Fortunesa? He'll be rather anxious to have it back." Mr Grant held out the box.

Vlad stared sullenly at the object being offered to him. He felt like sneering at the teacher before him, knocking the slightly battered box from his hands and stamping on it. Why should he do anything for Bertrand? Especially now. He ignored the prickling of his conscience, the tiny voice in his head which whispered 'what if?' What if Bertrand had been telling the truth? What if he had been innocent?

Mr Grant was still prattling on. "It was very good of him to lend me such a sentimental object and it might be just the ticket for cheering him up when he's feeling under the weather."

Abruptly, Vlad took the box from Mr Grant's hands. He didn't think twice about flicking the lid open despite Mr Grant's blustering about respect and privacy. Vlad hadn't afforded Bertrand much of either of those two things when he had been undead so why bother now after he had driven a stake through that treacherous heart? He pushed aside a crisp sheet of white paper to find a golden brown cross glinting dully up at him. It took Vlad a few seconds to recognise that the object was a medal with a sovereign's head in the middle and swords crisscrossing beneath. Bertrand had worn many medals on his military uniform but Vlad didn't recognise this one. He looked at Mr Grant automatically seeking answers from someone he never thought would have them.

Perhaps, Mr Grant saw something in his eyes because the teacher's voice was unusually gentle and low as he spoke. "It's the Croix de Guerre, a military honour for those Allied soldiers who demonstrated exceptional courage and heroism." He gave a little cough full of awkwardness. "Bertie's great grandfather fought in World War I. Truly remarkable man by all accounts, survived three years at the Front without so much as a scratch before Passchendaele. He was awarded this," Jim tapped the wooden box lightly with two fingers, "posthumously for sacrificing his life to save his regiment. His troops said he was almost unnaturally fast but not this time. He didn't make it back before the shell exploded." He gave Vlad a reproving look. "Of course, if you had actually attended the lesson you would have learnt all this."

Vlad laughed scornfully. "I suppose Bertrand told you all that?" How like Bertrand to glorify his past actions. No doubt, he had simply gone off to feast on those poor soldiers trapped in the mud and gunfire of No Man's Land.

Mr Grant bristled with disapproval, Vlad could sense his heartbeat accelerating with annoyance, it made his fangs ache to descend. "No." For once, his cheery teacher sounded quite cross. "Mr du Fortunesa," Mr Grant seemed to be stressing Bertrand's formal name, "didn't want to speak of it. I did the research myself." He nodded towards the piece of paper in the box. "I found that newspaper article on his great grandfather. I thought he might like to know how highly his regiment thought of him."

Vlad snapped the lid shut. "I'll see that he gets it," he replied coldly before turning to stalk off.

"One more thing Vlad," Mr Grant's voice sounded troubled. "Do wish him my best. We all rather miss him down at the Rose and Crown."

Vlad turned back around to give Mr Grant an incredulous look but it was too late the teacher was already hurrying back to his classroom.

* * *

Vlad waited until he was in the relative safety of Bertrand's coffin room before he let himself think about what Mr Grant had revealed. Opening the box again, he found himself unfolding the paper to see what it said. Much to his frustration, the printed news article was in French, the one language Vlad seemed to have a total inability to learn. He felt like crumpling up the paper and tossing it aside but then the photograph caught his attention. As he stared down at the French soldiers posing so proudly for the camera, it struck Vlad in a way that it had never struck him before, they were boys. Just boys, barely a few months older than him and they would have all gone to their deaths except for the actions of Bertrand. Bertrand, his sneaky, treacherous, backstabbing tutor, had once valued the lives of these breathers. He had apparently put himself at great risk to ensure they got to witness another dawn.

As he lifted his head from the box and gazed around the room he had allocated to his former tutor, Vlad found himself fighting back against a sudden wave of emotion. It was full of precious artefacts and books, full of an unlife that had lasted over four centuries. Who really knew what Bertrand had done with all that time when he had been waiting for the Chosen One? How many other secrets had his tutor kept concealed in boxes like this? How many other people lived because of him? And if Bertrand was capable of such courage, such loyalty, then what if...

Vlad could feel his throat tightening in a way that had nothing to do with thirst, cold tears were prickling at his eyes. '_Bertie._' Vlad hadn't known that Bertrand and the stuffy Mr Grant were even on speaking terms let alone friends. '_We all rather miss him down at the Rose and Crown'_ So, that's where Bertrand used to disappear some evenings, to the village pub, to have a couple of pints _with_ not _of_ breathers. The older vampire had made a life for himself here, he had made friends, he had shared confidences with other teachers and now...

Vlad closed the lid of the box with gentle reverence before hugging it to his chest and curling up in a tight ball. And then, for first time since that dreadful night, he wept for Bertrand.


End file.
